


Her Choice, His Bane

by Seranna



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age Kink Meme, F/M, Masturbation, One-Sided Attraction, Prompt Fill, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 01:49:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5029039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seranna/pseuds/Seranna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kink meme fill for a prompt for either Cullen or Solas getting off while thinking about a female Inquisitor. </p><p>Cullen masturbates while thinking about how he would fuck Lavellan while real Lavellan is prancing around with her elf boyfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Her Choice, His Bane

**Author's Note:**

> Original Kink Meme prompt is located here: http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/15060.html?thread=59295188
> 
> This is my first time writing smut, so any constructive criticism is welcome.

Cullen leaves the war room with a headache. Again.

Luckily it’s already night-time. If it’s still bright and sunny, his headache will be worse.

Maker preserve him! Who thinks judging a corpse in a box is a good idea in the first place? Well, the Maker-forsaken Orlesians. But do they have to display the head on a pike too? He originally proposed the idea as a joke, to show his coworkers just how ridiculous the whole situation is. Never would he expect that the Inquisitor would take him seriously and ask him to do exactly that.

The worst part is he has trouble saying no to her.

So there he is, about to return to his office to arrange for the most preposterous parade of a dead woman’s head.

On a pike.

At fancy Orlesian parties, where fancy wine and tiny cakes will be served.

As if that isn’t bad enough, in his distraction he has forgotten to position himself in front of Inquisitor Lavellan when exiting the war room.

It’s a long walk back to the Great Hall. It’s made to feel even longer by Cullen’s insistence on avoiding his gaze from the Inquisitor’s elegant form before him. He curses for the umpteenth time the strange layout of Skyhold, which gives him no choice but to follow his leader quietly.

At the first set of doors in the hallway, he is forced to look up as the Inquisitor holds the door open for him. She twists her body so she can face him and flash him a bright smile. His eyes immediately become glued on her supple mouth and pearly teeth. He traces her lips from left to right, noting the familiar bumps and scabs along them. They are probably developed from her habit of chewing on her lips while deep in thought, a nervous tick developed as a side effect to making decisions that shoulder the weight of the world.

He feels the corners of his own mouth twitch upwards involuntarily to return the smile.

He is such a fool, a hopeless hopeless fool.

“Thank you Inquisitor.” He says quietly, hoping his voice doesn’t betray any of his emotions within.

Lavellan moves forward again as he begins to pass through the doorway. Cullen follows in her wake like the faithful commander he is, his previous resolve lost. His eyes begin to trace from the back of her head downwards, taking note of her shiny and soft brown hair, her slim but graceful form, the gentle curve as her small waist swells into her hips, the sway of those hips as she walks…

He can feel heat creeping towards his face, most likely giving his cheeks some colour.

He risks a glance sideway, hoping neither Leliana or Josephine notices the directions of his gaze or the change in his coloring. Fortunately for him, they have branched from the Inquisitor to have a private conversation near Josephine’s desk.

However, Cullen swears there’s a smirk on Leliana’s face.

“I know you don’t like my decision on Duchess Florianne’s remains.” Lavellan says quietly after they move a few more steps in silence.

Her voice interrupts Cullen’s thoughts more than her words. He nods slowly.

“It has to be done this way. The Inquisition needs to be as clear in our message as possible. The head is both a warning and a show of strength for us. Celene needs it too.” She explains further.

Cullen ponders the justification. He still dislikes the decision, but he will carry it out like a loyal solder.

That and he can’t say no to her.

“Understood.”

\----------

The walk to his office feels longer than normal. The brisk night Frostback air bit at his face and neck slightly, but the pauldron keeps him warm.

When he arrives in the familiar room, he finds himself faced with another large pile of paperwork on his desk. He rubs his face absentmindedly and sighs. His headache has gotten slightly better from the cool breeze of the walk, but it’s threatening to come back with the vengeance. He glances quickly towards the shelf against the corner of his office, knowing that reprieve is one bad decision away.

He shakes his head. No, that is not the solution.

He forces his tired body towards the desk to sit in his usual chair. He picks up the first of many reports, a status update from Knight Captain Rylen. He has been waiting for this report for two days. Good that it has finally arrived.

He glances down the report. The darkspawn problem has been taken care of. That’s good. Water source is procured. Also good. Bandits are cleared from fortress. Excellent. All thanks to the personal assistance of the Inquisitor.

“Maker’s breath.” Cullen mutters.

That woman is literally everywhere.

At that, Cullen’s thoughts return to Ellana Lavellan, the Herald of Andraste, sealer of the breach, leader of the Inquisition, and most importantly, his boss. His thoughts of her should conjure only emotions of respect. Instead all his mind can conjure are images of her perfect smile, the twinkle in her eyes when she laughs, the small but soft form of her body, the sway of her hips when she walks, the rise and fall of her chest after exertion…

Cullen shakes his head tersely.

It is not appropriate to think of his boss this way. Not now, not ever.

…Except he hasn’t stopped thinking about her since they played chess in the courtyard that one fateful day.

She said she wanted to spend more time with him. It felt as good a time as any to clarify what that meant. There have been rumours of the Inquisitor’s relationship with a certain apostate elf. He asked her if she would prefer Solas’s company. She expressed regret.

“If things were different…” were her exact words.

He expects to go back about his normal business after that conversation. After all, the Inquisitor has found the right man for her. Cullen is glad she has found happiness.

Except he isn’t. And he hasn’t been able to go back to normal.

He thinks about her when he’s waking, whether in her presence or not. He thinks about her when trainings his soldiers, wondering how well she would take to the exercises. He thinks about her when eating, wondering what her favourite foods are. He thinks about her when reading reports, wondering if she’s safe on her journey.

Even his recurring nightmares of desire demon-Solona have begun to morph into a distinctly more elven shape.

He rubbed his eyes slowly, resolved to focus on the field report again.

He doesn’t get past another two words before his mind wanders towards his fearless leader again. He wonders where she is at the moment. She was headed across the Great Hall towards Varric when they parted ways, but Varric stands only a few feet outside of the rotunda a certain elven mage frequents.

Solas…

Cullen feels a pang of jealousy well up in him. He tries to force it back down but it’s no use.

On a logical level, he certainly understands why Lavellan would fall for the apostate mage. After all, Solas represents something familiar, something wise, something easy to trust. The Herald wasn’t too trusting of Cullen when they first met, what with her being a mage and him being a former Templar.

He really has no right to be jealous. He challenged her flirtatious advance, so he has to live with her decision.

But feelings are anything but logical. No matter how much he tells himself that it’s her decision and he should be at peace with it, he can’t seem to find peace.

Very deep down inside, he wishes she is in this room right now.

He wishes she is approaching him with that graceful ease only she possesses. She would circle behind his desk beside where he’s sitting, lean towards him to read his report over his shoulder. Her body would be so close that he can feel the heat radiate off her and smell the natural scent of elfroot and prophet’s laurel she carries about her. She would read lines of the report softly in her sweet voice and make a dry field report the most seductive thing he can imagine. Then she would lean in even closer, bringing her mouth close to whisper lewd promises as her lips brush lightly against the shell of his ear.

He shakes his head again, almost violently this time.

This is certainly going too far. He needs to concentrate on his work, damn it.

The pool of heat in his belly and the tightness in the crotch of his pants are telling another story.

He glances out of his window at the darkness and gives us. He is clearly not going to get any more work done tonight. Might as well give up, get whatever sleep he can, and try again in the morning. He growls slightly in frustration. Thoughts of the Inquisitor are a worse distraction than his lyrium withdrawal.

He stands up slowly, keenly aware of the slight discomfort the tightness in his pants is causing. He shifts slightly and moves to climb up the ladder toward his makeshift-permanent bunk.

Instead of helping, the climb exaggerates the situation. As he moves one leg over another up the ladder, his thighs keep rubbing against his already swollen crotch. The heat and the friction further intensify the tightness in his belly.

He is almost relieved when he reaches the top of the ladder.

He immediately sits down on his bed to shed his boots and trousers. No point in modesty now. Anything to ease some of that tension building up in his body.

He groans with relief when his trousers finally hit the ground and his cock was able to spring free. He strokes it slowly with his hand almost absentmindedly.

Another mistake.

He starts wondering what Lavellan’s hand would feel like on his cock and the thought consumes him.

He feels his grip tighten on his cock as his body prepares itself for a familiar routine. He forces his grip to loosen again with no small amount of willpower.

No, he will _not_ masturbate to the leader of the Inquisition.

Nor will he think about how her soft lips would feel brushing against his skin…how her graceful fingers would trace the scars along his torso…how her soft voice would moan his name as he teases her sex…how the warmth of her body surrounds him as he rocks into her over and over…how her keen intelligent eyes would study his expression as she brings him to completion…

His grip tightens again. This time he isn’t able to fight back.

Okay, he is masturbating to the leader of the Inquisition.

The minute that thought crosses his mind, it feels like a dam has burst open.

Suddenly, he’s keenly aware of just how tight the pool in the bottom of his belly feels, just how warm his whole body is, just how much _pleasure_ the simple touch against his cock brings him.

He is picturing Ellana’s hand around him instead of his own. She is knelt against his leg at the foot of the bed, her body free of the bondage of any clothing. She is regarding his cock with dark eyes thick with desire as she explores the reaction each touch elicits…

He touches himself as he thinks she would, shifting fingers lightly up and down against his shaft then brushing them in a circular motion around the head of his cock.

 “Maker…” He moans.

Then he pictures Ellana shifting her lovely form closer, her breasts pressed against his legs,  so she can bring in her face and lick up his shaft from bottom to the top…

He licks two of his fingers and slides the wetted digits up his member.

After, she would enclose her entire mouth on him, moving her lips down his cock slowly and taking him as deeply as she can…

He wraps his hand around his cock again, sliding down slowly but intently.

Then she would pick up the pace, quickly bobbing her head up and down while darting her tongue around his head…

His hand speeds up.

When he becomes close to release, when she can see his balls tightening and twitching, she would…

 _No._ His hand stops momentarily as he pants slightly.

He would pull her off his cock, wrap his arms around her soft and supple form, lift her up, place her on his bed, and enter her in one swift motion…

His hand resumes its pumping, tightening yet again.

He would make sure she feels pleasure, rocking his hips in any way that extracts the loudest moans from her beautiful lips. He would revel in the lovely sound of her every pant, groan, and moan as he fills her again and again. He would not let his eyes leave her perfect face as he rocks her over the edge only to follow himself…

He closes his eyes and feels himself come. An intense wave of relief washing over him as his whole body constricted then relaxed. The pool of heat and tightness in his belly is beginning to dissipate. The cock in his hand starts to return to its normal state. His hand is covered in his own seed and the air smells slightly of his scent.

He sighs, feeling somewhat guilty and ashamed of his actions.

He just masturbated to the woman who is the savior of Thedas, attached to a man who can probably freeze him on the spot without a twitch of his fingers, and his boss. Despite all of that, it’s the best orgasm he has had in a long time.

He can’t help but wonder what in the Maker’s name is wrong with him as he moves to clean himself up and get ready for bed.


End file.
